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Welcome To The New Millennium
Category: Gray Syndicate Logs Category: OtherSpace: Millennium Logs Common Room - ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ This is a large spacious room, the walls and door made of the same metal as the rest of the complex. The door has the same arm mechanism as the other doors in this facility. What makes this room different is that its been redecorated to be more welcoming. The floor has been covered in a deep blue carpet which covers up to the little kitchen area in the far left corner. Off in the far right hand corner and extending along the right hand wall are several beds, and just to the right of the door is a refresher area. More toward the center of the room and extending to the left of the door are several couches, chairs, and beanbag pillows situated around three holoviewers which hang from the wall. The first viewer is connected to the newest hologame console, the second looking to be a normal viewer. The third viewer is larger than the rest and shows a split screen view of cameras situated around the buildling. Controls for manipulating and toggling between the various cameras are at a small desk just below the viewer itself. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Alastair reaches out and grabs the bread out of the sack so quickly as to leave doubt whether the fact Skye gave permission was just a coincidence. He grabs the end of the baguette with his cybernetic hand and tears off a chunk with his scalpel claws. He shoves it into his mouth and says, as he chews. "Mmm. Good." "Oh, alright, then," Skye says. "Good." She steps further out of the way and moves slightly more inward. "Shall we get something to eat?" "Oooh!" Plumpaw scrambles out from behind the door and unceremoniously dumps Rabbit in his cage. She pauses, pats him carefully, and locks the little door. "Food is good." She grins. "Mrph." Alastair says with a mouth full of bread crumbs. He swallows and wipes his mouth. "Sounds good." He says, pushing through the door after Skye. "What are we having?" About then, a short, slight figure limps in. That would be Kes, favoring her left leg -- a tightly-wrapped bandage encircles it just above her knee. "'Sup," she mumbles, waving absently. "Oh, just making diner chow for the drunkies," Skye answers cheerily. "You look like you've had a good night yourself, except for the leg." Alastair is taking another bite off the hunk of bread, but he turns to look around at Kestrel. He stumbles backwards slightly as he does. "Erm." He says, swallowing a bite. "Hallucination-girl, what happened to your leg?" "Frag grenade," Kes replies, shrugging a bit. "Nothin' big. One'a mine. Jest went off a li'l too close fer comfort's all." She chuckles quietly, and proceeds into the room. Skye heads for the kitchen to start putting away the groceries, laeving out the ingredients for pancakes, hashbrowns and vegetarian bacon--although she quickly rips off the packaging and hides it in the trashcan to mask the fact that it's not the real thing. "You blew yourself up and it's no big deal? You can't be serious." Alastair shrugs, and follows Skye into the kitchen. He drops the baguette down on the table, and turns around to lean against it. "Well." He says back towards Kestrel. "Come in here and let met take a look at it. I can do better than that antique bandage." Kestrel snorts. "Shoulda seen what happened ta th'guys what were chasin' me," she replies, grinning. "Frags ain't mines, but 'ey'll do inna pinch." She shrugs vaguely at Alastair. "Ain't too bad, but eh, sure, whatever ya say, doc." She makes her way across to him, then looks up at him. "Jest no lookin' up m'skirt, 'ey?" A wry smirk punctuates the comment. "You're drunk," Skye points out to Al. She grabs a grater from a cabinet and starts shredding potatoes. "I just have to see this. I've seen a lot of things that're beyond belief, but I -have- to see this." "Among other things." Alastair agrees pleasantly enough. "That's not normally a problem." He drops himself down onto a chair, pulls another chair in front of him, and gestures for Kes to sit down so he can look at her injury. "Eh," Kes replies, snickering. "'E useta think I was 'maginary, ain't like 'im bein' high's any kinda surprise," she points out. The Later flops down into the chair, and reaches to undo the bandages on her leg. The damage is pretty superficial, considering the source of the injury. A couple of long, deep gashes run up the side of her leg. They've obviously been treated, with at least basic first aid techniques. "Toldja, it ain't bad. Couple'a bits jest flew further'n I figured on 'em flyin'." Skye finishes shredding the potatoes and gets to dicing some peppers and onions. "Ah, the very picture of malpractice!" she observes brightly. She peers over the counter for a better look at Kes's wound. "Mmmm, that's not so bad. It'd probably get better on its own." Alastair takes ahold of Kestrel's heel with his hand and, with the other hand (the cybernetic one) examines the wound. "Hmm." He says thoughtfully. "Well, it is superficial." He agrees. "I'll give you some stronger antibiotic than what you've probably used already." He twists his arm to extend a needle, and injects it into the wound. Kestrel barely flinches as the needle's stuck into her. "...huh, yer better at 'at'n I am," she muses, with a snicker. "Course, never did do more'n a few field medic courses, so..." The Later shrugs, then nods. "Yeah. Coulda been a lot worse. Like I said, shoulda seen th'poor fuckers what were chasin' me. 'Ey was a li'l closer'n I thought 'ey would be when 'ey set it off." She grins at that, just a touch sheepish. The little Later is sitting in a chair, having a wound on her left leg tended by Alastair, who's also sitting in a chair, across from her. Skye is leaning over the kitchen counter, watching. Skye scoops up the chopped peppers and onions and puts them into a bowl with the shredded potatoes. She turns on the burners underneath a couple of skillets, grabs a larger bowl out of the cabinet, cracks a few eggs into it and adds several more items to make a batter. The Sivadian journochef hmmmmms softly, grabs a jar of peanut butter from the fridge and adds a few tablespoons. "Maybe next time you should tape it into the bastard's mouth," Skye suggests. "I saw it in a holoflick once." Alastair pulls his hand back and retracts the needle into his arm with a slight hiss. "Basic first aid is just that. I wouldn't expect more or less. " He says, only slightly condescendingly, his relative good humor perhaps owing to his inebriation. "The real problem is with your tools." He folds one of his cyborg fingers back at the knuckle, and pinches the gouges closed with his other hand while he seals them with a line of medical gel. Into the room comes that tiny Sivadian, her eyes taking in the scene for a moment. She stays near the doorway for now, her arms being folded across her chest, "More trouble?" she asks, her eyes going to the Later and the Doc, a little smirk on her lips. "Same shit, different day, right?" Skye says with a chuckle. Then, TTTSSSSSSSSSS!! as she starts turning batter into pancakes and potatoes into hashbrowns and "bacon" into... well, it's still fake bacon. But maybe nobody will notice the packaging tucked down into the trash can. What the hell was that? A sound. Inside? No, outside. Faint, an echo - but definitely close by. Again! The first time it might have sounded like a gunshot, but now it's more like two hovertrucks colliding at full-speed. Machine-gun fire follows... rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat, a hurried patter of metal on metal, ring ting ping, and the shouts of men. Plural. "Eh," Kes replies, again shrugging. "Ain't like m'gonna take 'fense, doc. All I hadda do was keep people 'live till we got 'em ta th'real docs. An' I like m'fingers how 'ey are -- think havin' a arm like 'at might affect m'shootin'." A second shrug goes toward Bri. "Frag grenade," she replies, as if this explains everything. Then, the little Later perks up, frowning as she hears the noise outside. "...So, uh... Anyone 'spectin' comp'ny?" Alastair rubs a finger across the the wound, double checking just in case he made any slight mistakes. "Yeah, but it comes with needles and fire and all kinds of cool sharp toys." He says, speech still a bit slurred. He pops his finger back into place. He lets her leg go, and turns his chair back to face the table. "So. When's dinner?" He asks, yawning and stifling a grin. Bri nods, one hand rubbing at her right side and she looks like she's about to answer when her attention is stolen by the sound, "What the..." she leans back to look out the door and down the hall, "I'm not expecting anybody," she says with a little frown, and standing back up straight she looks over to Kestrel, "Wanna go see?" she asks. "Well, I'm not going, whatever you all do," Skye says. "I think I'm just going to smoke a joint and lie down. I'll be in my bunk if anyone wants a hit." Alastair stretches his right arm where he sits. "I'm with her." He says, jerking his thumb towards Skye. "I think I'm starting to come down, anyway. I'll be here with the food and drugs." He picks himself up out of the chair and limps to the stove to get himself a plate full of Skye's cooking. "And you to should just leave the front door shut. The pink-haired phantasm can take pot-shots at anybody in the front yard through a window." Kestrel quirks an eyebrow at Skye. "Smokin' in yer bed's a good way ta set yer bed on fire, an' 'ere's easier ways ta warm a bed'n 'at," she deadpans, then shrugs at Bri. "Eh, sure, might be good fer a laugh'r two -- why th'hell not? Jest gotta mind 'at we don' draw too much 'tention, 'ey?" A grin is given at Al's comment. "Window potshots're my specialty. We kin play 'nother game'a 'betcha ya can't hit 'em'." SMASH! That lovely sound precedes the horrible, spine-twisting, cringe-worthy sound of nails on a blackboard, an agonizing screech of metal shearing. Silence, save for what may be the gentle tinkling of shattered glass. Then an animal roars. It's a great, bellowing sound, mythical laaskavolk meets thundukili lizard meets wounded bumbler. "Oooo!" Bri says, her eyes lighting up, "Let me just..." she moves to sit down on the couch and concentrates for a moment. The holoviewer comes to life and starts to slowly flip through the different external camera views. There's a snerk at Kes's comment and she nods her head, "We do need to do that again," she says with obvious amusement. At the screeching sounds she does cringe, "What the fuck?" she mutters, her eyes going back to the holoviewer to get a look at things. Alastair takes his plate, takes a fork, and scoops up a mouthful of food which chews on while he makes his way back to the table. After setting down his plate he gets out his pipe, and starts getting ready to smoke a bowl. "If that's an animal." He says, then pauses to swallow. "Try and kill it. We can make steaks." Kestrel frowns and gets to her feet, tugging her too-short skirt down a touch. Her hand goes to an inside pocket of her jacket, and when it comes out again, a slugthrower pistol rests familiarly in it. "Was 'at outside, 'r was 'at somethin' tearin' down th'front door, kid?" the Later asks, already moving with catlike steps toward the hallway. "I'll have ya on comms." Clinging to the shadows, skulking and darting through the blackness is the unmistakable silhouette of a quadruped creature. Light catches it - a fleeting instant - and red eyes glint unnaturally, wet with blackish blood. It is being pursued by something, and in its wounded state, seems to have lost all sense of balance and direction. It is crashing past dumpsters and trashcans, tearing recklessly through chain-link fences, and all the while struggling to stay out of sight from both security hovercameras and its pursuants. Two men are chasing it. Humanoid, rough and armed with pistols. No machine guns, despite the rat-a-tatting from before. Bri nods at Kes's words, her eyes staying on the screen all the while, "Just make sure you don't get the munchies and eat all that before I get some," she asides to Alastair, then catching sight of that animal moving around, she peers at the screen, "Looks like something big, wounded. It's being pursued. It's not trying to break in...yet." she says into her comm unit, "See if you can't take it down. Mind the people if you can though." "Wilco," Kes replies over comms, padding quietly through the office, out the blast doors, and into the front hallway, leading warily with the pistol. Paranoid? Never. "Any idea what it is?" Alastair pauses eating just long enough to put down his fork and light up with the small torch in one of his fingers. "I can't promise anything. If you hurry up, you can have some of this stuff, too." He stops talking in order to alternate between shoveling food into his mouth and inhaling smoke into his lungs. Audio cuts in, fuzzed with static. "They remember everything-- tell all the others--" The men, shouting back and forth between each other as they chase the creature down. "Kill it-- scot-free..." Though blood is gushing from it, a thick, vile black substance, the felinoid's stamina is stranglely undamaged. The same cannot be said for its coordination, however; when it comes to an intersection of alleyway and street, it skids to an awkward halt before faceplanting gracelessly against the cement with a /skreeeeee/ of steel on concrete. Bri cringes at the sound of the steel on concrete, her eyes closing, and she pulls the comm out of her ear, "Damn..." she says, her hand rubbing at her ear as if that will make the ringing go away faster. One eye opens to look back at the viewer, and then the other. The viewer flips to a camera that she hopes is at a better angle to see, and tries to zoom in on the thing, and the little comm is stuck back in her ear, "Trying to get a better look now," she says softly into it. Kestrel just keeps moving, to the front door of the building. Notably, though, she switches weapons before she proceeds any further. This one's also a pistol, albeit smaller caliber, and with a canister-style silencer on it. "M'gonna go sneaky, head outside," she murmurs into the comms. "See what's what. Dunno if'n I like th'sound'a 'is, kid." That said, she pushes the door open as quietly as she can, and slips out into the shadow of the building. Alastair has cleared his plate before long, and quickly gets himself another. He picks at that while he finishes his smoking, cleans out his pipe, and puts it away. He lurches to his feet, and makes his way down the hall to where Bri is. "Well." He says, yawning. "I'm going to go make a pass at whatsername, if she's still awake. And after being rejected I'm going to catch some sleep myself. Any mortal injuries will have to wait until morning." He shambles off again towards the sleeping area. Kestrel would appear on the holo, if it were anywhere within human hope to spot her. Any attempts are fool's folly, however, short of orbital-space field scans. She ghosts behind the pair of men; they are much easier for Bri to spot, blustering and thundering after the cat-like animal while discussing the best way of disposing it. "Can't shoot the damn thing! Bounces right off!" "Bust out your pulsespitter, boy, that's what nailed it last time." "Damn thing's got a two-cred charge! It's not a bloody uzi!" While they argue, the creature is struggling to pull itself to its feet. And, strangely? There is sound coming from it. "... Requesting... requesting backup of virtual mapping systems from damage frontal array," it states in cold, clean, mechanical notes, sharp with the articulate diction of teatipping Sivad. Bri listens to this creature talking, "Holy shit," she mutters under her breath, then into the comm, "Hold your fire, Kes. I repeat, hold your fire. That thing might not be a black hat. See if you can't get a better look at it?" "I hear it," the Later murmurs in a low voice into the comm, barely audible. Kes ghosts along beside the two men, far enough away that she's out of line of sight, but keeping that gun ready just in case. "Don' sound like any kind'a animal I ever seen." It isn't an animal. Not exactly. If Kes does take a better look at it, she's greeted with what is most definitely a feline form - or felinesque, to be more exact. Smooth matte black hullsteel gleaming with leaking fluids, scored between what approximates to shoulderblades, metal scored and slagging between two seashell, batlike ears. Red opticals flicker, alternately brightening and dimming. It is not alive, but it is most certainly sentient, and most certainly wounded in its own unique way. "There it is!" shouts the first man, gesturing with the hilt of its gun. "It's down! Shoot it!" The second man takes the gun in both hands and sights the mechanoid. "Stop them," Bri calls into the comm, "Wing one of 'em if you have to. But don't kill 'em...yet." She keeps her eyes on the viewer, the camera panning back out so she can get a better look at the layout as a whole. Kestrel makes only a quiet reply of, "Wilco," before she raises her own gun to fire, aiming for the second man, the one that's about to do the same. /Zing./ The man is not dead. But he's down. Kestrel could've shot backwards, handcuffed, and blindfolded and still landed that shot, one single bullet to the back of the knee. He crumples, and painfully - that leg just sort of gives out from beneath him, punctuated by an agaonized shriek. That smarts. His buddy practically jumps out of his skin, peering around for the killer mosquitoes. Bri giggles as she watches the viewer, "Nice one, killer birdy," she says with more amusement than she probably should. "I'm going to try something...see if you can keep them busy?" she asks. "Busy as in busy, 'r busy as in hurtin'?" Kes asks softly, though the question seems to be largely rhetorical, as she's already drawing a bead on the other guy, aiming to cripple him as well. This one nearly severs the arm at the elbow. It's quite like someone took a holepuncher and popped a hole right through the connecting joint. His scream is no less gruesome, though it takes him longer to fall - and then, it's only to his knees. "What the /hell?"/ he screams, vainly trying to stopper the blood gushing from the fresh meaty blossom. His sidearm clatters to the ground beside him. In the darkness beyond, a pair of red eyes pierces the veil of shadow to peer at the grisly scene. They blink once. "Whatever's your pleasure, love," Bri says into the comm, "Going to see if I can interface with this thing," she explains, then sitting back on the couch she seems to draw in on herself for a moment, concentrating. Kestrel chuckles quietly at that -- it's not much more than a dry rasp, really. "Tell ya what. Ya sit still an' 'ere won't be no more bullets," the Later offers from the shadows, directed at the two men. "Ya move, an', well... 'ere'll be more bullets." "Jesus Christ!" screams the first guy, now gaping at his very bloody friend. Knee wounds - they not only suck, they bleed out like crazy. "Oh my god! Johnson, what the hell man!" His wailing gets one of those black, impeccably articulated ears swivelling in the direction of the sound... and then, well, there is another there. The felinoid blinks again, wicking oil from its eyes. Oil - not blood. Bri is certainly aware of that. This is a machine. Inorganic. Guided by an artificial intelligence system that is ancient to the point of alien, and embedded in the framework of a being that is of unmistakably Phyrrian construction. In that artificial mind, Bri doesn't muck around much, quickly finding the complex program that is the communication center for the creature, "Are you friend or foe?" she asks, "What's your purpose?" "...Man, whatta couple'a fuckin' babies," Kes mutters, shaking her head. She -might- just be audible to those two men. "Was hurt worse inna war, an' ya didn't see me cryin' like 'at, no sir..." She snorts, and simply waits for a response from Bri. "This unit is War Tasker designation Ariel-002, alias Epsilon," comes the response, a blip over a dying commline. "I am one of four prototype Taskers developed from the Ariel-Two artificial intelligence system in the year three-thousand-and-eight for Phyrrian conquest, and reconfigured for independent information gathering and data harvesting." "C'mon out here!" the man shouts as if he can honestly do something in his pathetic condition; however, being male, he's going to blunder and swagger anyway. "C'mon out here and fight like a man!" Bri blinks, "The um...you've survived that long?" she asks, "What is your purpose now? Who do you report to?" Kestrel just laughs derisively, and makes no effort to show herself -- in fact, the voice comes from somewhere slightly different this time, the Later's catlike steps keeping her on the move. "Ain't a man," she replies. "Jest a bitty li'l girl. But lemme ask ya a question -- who's th'one cryin' like a fuckin' baby an' bleedin' inna street? Seems like 'ere ain't no men at -all- 'round 'ere t'night, don' it?" "This unit has been reconfigured a total of three hundred and eighty-six times to suit the needs of various sentients requiring combative prowess, social integration, or data collecting," comes the reply. "As of present time, I am an independent entity." "There's more than one," growls the guy. The other whimpers. "I'm bleedin', man." There's silence for a moment, Bri seeming to think this over. "What all are you capable of? Why are those men after you?" she finally asks. "Could jest putcha outta yer misery if'n ya want," Kes offers gamely, still making no move to show herself. "'En ya wouldn't care 'bout bleedin'." There is a long silence on Epsilon's end, though the connection is still alive. "The Ariel-Two system's primary defense is information and personnel security with focus on starship integration. We have since been modified to serve in combat roles during the Phyrrian Conquest of 3007, reinforced with secondary programs and operational guidelines that supplement but do not override our primary directives to serve and protect our controller. At present, this unit is without a controller. Independent forays onto Tomin Kora for the sake of updating my personal memorybanks have resulted in my being party to sensitive matters regarding the criminal histories of certain individuals, evidence of which they would terminate from my databanks by terminating me." Bri switches over to her comm for just a moment, probably remotely, "Get rid of them," she says into Kestrel's comm before addressing the creature again, "Would you like a new controller?" she asks of it. If this unit may be blunt, Miss, it would greatly prefer discussion of potential ways to mend the considerable damage done to its joints and sensors. Readings are inaccurate, but I believe there is a hole in my dorsal side. On the ground outside, the Phyrrian struggles to stand again, only successfully getting its hind legs stable; forelegs wobble and buckle. If that is the condition for repair, then this Ariel unit is at your service. Inside the common room a smile comes to the little Sivadian's lips, "Yes, I can agree to that," she replies. "I can find somebody that can help to repair you." With the link between them seemingly well established at this point, Bri stands and makes her way from the room and out toward the blast doors, "There should be a door into this building near you. Can you make your way to it? I don't think I'm strong enough to carry you in," she admits. As she relays this she's pressing buttons to open the main doors into the building. I can state conclusively that you are not. I will attempt to do as you instruct. And it does. One paw, and then the other, Epsilon literally drags itself along the concrete as if it were scaling some bizarre horizontal wall perpendicular to the pull of gravity - it rather looks like the Tasker is scaling a mountain face, or perhaps swimming, and doing so rather pathetically in an oozing trail of fluid. Eventually, an eternity later, it hauls itself across the threshold beyond the heavy reinforced doors, where it eases the strain on its already taxed limbs by simply collapsing again to the floor. The door is closed behind the unit, and the blast doors opened. Bri makes her way out to the unit. The link isn't cut just yet, but at this point she doesn't use the link when she addresses the creature. "I will have somebody help you in the rest of the way. Where are you wounded? I have to send a message out, but I will have somebody here soon to repair you. You can call me Sabrina or Bri, whichever you prefer." She curiously looks over the body, trying to see what she can make out of the wound and what it might require. "You have my gratitude, Sabrina," replies Epsilon, its external comm crackling with static; even so, there is no mistaking the calculatedly crystal-clear and aristocratic lilt of the old-fashioned upper-class Sivadian. Nor is there any missing the stripe of red paint across its snout. "My peripheral sensors are severely damaged. This may be attributed to the pulse beam which rendered my forelegs and gyrostablizers useless," it ventures, peering back at the woman with those ominous pits of red; it cannot see the slagged metal and fried wiring, but it is most certainly aware of it. "It would be a safe conjecture that my plasma cannon is incapable of maintaining a charge, as well." Bri smiles, "Your welcome. I will do my best not to dissappoint. I know a cyber doc that can probably fix you up. It's just a matter of waiting. Is there anything I can do now, while we wait?" she asks. She speaks softly into her comm and after a moment two young men come quickly, one pushing a flatbed hovercart. Both remain silent simply awaiting instruction. "Do you think you could get on the cart with their help?" she asks the Ariel unit. "Then we can get you to a more secure room." Epsilon fixes its gaze upon the cart. "The attempt can be made," it responds. "Standby."And oh, how those servos protest; a stray spark even flies, an errant firefly darting from the scene of the grisly wound. The War-Tasker grits its metal teeth in an approximation of anguish, though it is unlikely any pain can actually be felt; it is merely a response socially conditioned into the intelligence program. One paw *clanks* onto the platform. Pressure is applied. Wounded shoulder roll forward, carrying the mechanoid's body ahead on pure momentum and force of will. Up it goes. Halfway there. And then, after such a dignified display, it is forced to resort to scrabbling with its mobile hind legs to propel its rump onto the cart entirely. The young men watch, trying to help where they can. Probably being more in the way than anything, but they are trying! "Shane, push him into the office," Bri instructs the blond of the two guys, then to the other, "Get something for him to lay on, make him comfortable." With these instructions the two set to work and Epsilon is wheeled into the office proper, the cart stopped before the desk. On the desk is a small black kitten, lounging quietly, it's bright yellow eyes peering at the group as they make their way in. Once on the platform, Epsilon rolls onto its side, sprawled in a tangle of tail and limbs. "Comfort is secondary to efficiency. I have no nerve endings," reminds the robocat. "It is a matter of powering down and awaiting a technician." Its tailtip flicks ones, ringing sharply on the metal platform. While the felinoid may not be truly feline, it seems to have adopted a number of qualities unique to cats, and meets the stare of the kitten as it rolls on by. "I'm more concerned about your safety while you are powered down," she explains, "And not ending up with all of your fluids leaking everywhere.A large canvas is brought and laid out in such a way as to hopefully serve as a little nest for Epsilon, "I don't want anything to happen to you. Here is safe though. It's difficult to get through these doors," Bri explains, the blast doors closing behind her once she's in the office. Well, it appears that one of the local members of team has returned from whatever she's doing, but unfortunately the outter blast door close in her. There's frustrated a sigh and a grumble as Tamila lets herself in, and she adjusts the utility vest with the tangler grenade and knife attached, before she picks up the duffle bag with the kevlar armour strapped to it. Just as she before she enters through the second set of doors, she recoils in shock at seeing the mechanical feline. The duffle bag is dropped to the ground, and she takes a step back towards where she came. Epsilon does not argue with the Sivadian. When the canvas is spread out, the mechanoid does nothing more than simply roll over the edge of the platform and into the waiting nest. /Thump./ It may perhaps be disconcerting to watch, for the weaker-spined, but the Ariel shrugs any discomfort experienced off with the ease of pre-programmed response. "I would not allow the aforementioned fluids to be ingested, and would seek medical attention if an accident occurs," it advises as it situates itself. Once settled, it shutters its optical sensors once in a mechanical fascimile of a blink, regarding Tamila. "Salutations. I have been shot. I pose no threat to you." Bri nods, "I'll let everybody know that your here and to be careful," she replies to Epsilon's warning. At the greeting she turns to see who's there, "Tam, it's alright. He's friendly. He agreed to let me be his controller, so there's nothing to worry about." She moves toward the TKer, her hand offered to her palm up, a small gesture of trying to give comfort. Tamila takes another step out when addressed by the robot and peers cautiously around the door towards Epsilon, but didn't seem all that phased by the thump of when the mechaniod landed. She then looks towards Bri, then back towards the robocat. "He?" she asks in mixture of disbelief and shock. "Controller?" She then leans out a little more, seeming a little put at ease by the Sivadian's words. "Yeah, you better not try and cause me harm." "This unit does not have a gender module installed. Pronouns denoting either sex may be applied," Epsilon notes. "I am War Tasker designation Ariel-002, alias Epsilon, an independent Phyrrian hunter-gatherer. Your identity has not been matched in my databanks. It is likely that a kernel of human fear has erased it from my local memory in response to your able-bodied threat. I am but a kitten." Bri shrugs, "It seemed nicer than calling him an it," she says. "And..he just seems appropriate somehow. I won't let him do anything to you. Your safe, love." Bri looks back to the tasker unit, "Would it be better to address you as Epsilon, or as Ariel then?" she asks, "Or should we give you another name?" "Long as it don't spaz out," mutters Tamila in reply to Bri, though her attention remains soley on Epsilon. However, at the robot's last comment, she does laugh, but in a nervous sort of way. "Only a kitten? Smoke, gonna hate to see it when it matures." It's about now she finally addresses the Tasker. "Yeah... People kinda have problems matchin' me in most records. Call me Tamila or Silver. Whatever gets the oil flowin'." Epsilon slides its gaze between the two women, remaining otherwise motionless. "Preferred form of address recorded. Greetings, Silver," it acknowledges the human, then changing tack to respond to the questions its controller poses. "This unit will respond to any number of aliases you assign to it. I am not programmed to have a preference, merely a base identity. It is the core of a functional artificial intelligence program." "I think if it was going to spaz, I'd be dead by now," Bri replies to Tam, then looks back to the tasker, "Then for now I'll call you Epsilon. We'll have to think of something more fitting eventually," she admits. "I can probably have that doc out here by tomorrow," she adds, a small PDA unit taken from a pocket in her vest and she starts to type in a message. "None of your programming was damaged was it?" she asks, a sidewise glance given over the taskers way. Tamila gives a nod towards the tasker, before finally entering the room fully. She carefully moves over to her duffle bag, and picks it up. "Yeah, hi Epsilon," she says greeting the robot. She breaks away her gaze from the tasker, before looking towards Bri with a raised brow. "You need to brin' together a team for escort work?" "I am not programmed to have a preference," Epsilon demures on the topic of the name game, "but I am capable of formulating my own opinions when presented with the facts in any given situation. That being said, a Timonae once made the mistake of addressing me as Snookums. I can state conclusively and without error that his plummeting to his death from the windy peaks of New Valsho was neither untimely nor uncalled for." It rests its snout atop its forepaws. "I will run a full systems diagnostic now. Entering standby mode." Bri nods, "Aye, can't have the cyber doc walking around unescorted. Wouldn't want something bad to happen to her or anything." She looks over at Epsilon, "I'll keep that in mind," she says seeming to make a mental note, no pet names.... "I'll bring together a team," Tamila tells Bri, giving a nod just to confirm her own words. She dumps her duffle bag down, and then starts to dig through the insides for a PDAs. She studies a blue one for a moment, before she places the blue PDA down and pulls out a red one. She makes a quick note, and then offers a grin back towards the Sivadian. "If that's really on our side..." Bri nods to Tamila, "I have control of it for now," she says, the pda in her hand going back into her pocket. Bri is standing near her desk, Tam nearby, and a small black kitten lounging on the desk and peering at a large feline looking creature which is laying completely motionless off to the side of the desk. It's obviously damaged, wires and some of it's frame showing through."Let's hope you can keep it under control," Tamila replies to Bri with a nod. She starts scribbling down a note on the screen of her own PDA, her brow furrowing slightly. "I'm gonna get somethin' done, just in case you lose control of it." Tamila and Bri are in the office, with a robocat about the same size as one of the 'big cats'. It appears that the robocat has been shot, and it's currently lying down and inactive. Oliver comes in through the main door, sliding a card in and opening up. He looks at the cat, "Get a new engineer or someone buy one off someone in the market?" Bri looks up at Oliver, "It showed up outside and needed help. Couple of guys hunting it down," she explains. "Thought I could at least see if it couldn't be repaired and whatnot, right?" she asks. Tamila glances towards Epsilon with a faint grin on her face at Bri's words. "I wonder..." she muses to herself, before glancing towards Oliver with a friendly smile. She gives a little bit of a formal bow. "Do you want tea or coffee, sir?" she asks. "I'm fine." Oliver says, watching Epsilon. "So you removed the transmitter and recording device from it, right?" "I can do that right now," Bri replies. "It's unaware of anything going on around it at the moment." Tamila gives a vague shrug, and stands silently by as Oliver and Bri speak. By the look on her face, she might be out of her depths with the conversation between the two. "Hm." Oliver comments. "Looks Sivadian." he adds. "They love these kinds of things. So much easier than a real pet. Ever case a place with one?" he asks Bri next. Bri shakes her head, "No. It has a very distinctive Sivadian accent though, I figured it had to be from there originally. It said it's had several bodies. The program inside it's old from what I can tell. Is it better than using an investigative unit?" she asks. Tamila remains quiet, letting Oliver and Bri speak without interruption. "Can't gather as much intel, but nobody suspects 'em, so they work real well." Oliver says. "Get lucky you might just be able to take over a family pet or something. Seen it done a couple times. You get lucky, you get one with opposable thumbs added. Can do all kinds of nasty things with 'em right from inside. Want to open the door? You got it. Deactivate alarms? A bit harder, but guess somebody's date of birth and you have it." then he laughs slightly, "Too bad I can't make 'em myself." Bri thinks about this for a moment. "Think somebody else sent it?" she asks, "Think...somebody's trying to spy on us?" These things seem to have her very concerned, her brow furrowing at this point. "I mucked about in it's programming a little bit, but I don't know enough about it to tell too much." "Can't we feed it what we want those who might be watchin' to believe? 'Till where know where it came from," suggests Tamila, finally breaking her rather short silence. "Deception, misdirection and so forth?" She gives an apologetic smile towards the Sivadian and the Later. "Electronics things ain't really my forte." "Don't know." Oliver admits to Bri. "Hm. Misdirection. Maybe, but without knowing anything, we don't know what to misdirect with." Bri nods, "It said it didn't have a controller. From what I could tell it was telling the truth about that. Supposedly it has info these other people want," she says with a shrug. "I let Kes take care of them and then let it inside, but...I suppose it could all be a set up or something," she says ponderingly. Tamila gives a nod towards Oliver. "Ain't my speciality there, sir." Then she looks towards Bri, and she arches a brow. "I gonna be stayin' at Roscoe's until we know what it's doin'." She tucks the PDA into her duffle bag once more, and then peers towards the door. "Keep an EMP with it just in case, we can interrogate it later." Oliver finally says. "If it doesn't cooperate, we can see about how much the information is worth and acquire it ourselves." Bri smiles up at Oliver, "Aye," she says, her lips moving more toward a lopsided smirk, "I'll get that now." She looks over to Tam, "You ever made one of those?" she asks, "and with the grenade...things should still be safe here." Tamila shakes her head towards Bri. "Nope, 'cause it's a whole different ball game to conventional explosives," she tells the other woman. "I ain't never played 'round with electronics and I ain't got the faintest idea how those EMP grenades work... Can hustle them up easy enough, though." "Sounds like a plan." Oliver says, "Tell me how it goes, I suppose." Bri nods to Oliver, "Aye. I'll go see about that, and I'll keep you posted." she looks back to Tam, "Too bad. They're...not bad little bits of weaponry, especially against stuff like this." Tamila gives a nod towards Bri. "I'll see about getting a few," she tells the Sivadian. "'Cause I might head off to Roscoe's on the way back and crash at his place." There's a worried look towards the robocat, then back towards the other woman. "You gonna be alright gettin' back?" Bri nods, "I've made the trip by myself before. Most people think I'm harmless." "Alright," Tamila replies, offering a soft smile. "Got my comm on, in case you need me. You take care of yourself out there, Bri." She pulls the duffle bag back over one shoulder and then starts towards the door. "You be careful too, love," Bri replies, and starts out herself. "I'll keep the channel open."